


A Few Thoughts...

by notjustmom



Series: Serein [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, John Watson's Blog, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-19 03:41:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5952376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson's blog posts that follow the events in 'Serein', may also have a few private entries along the way...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nothing ever happens to me...

27 January

Seriously?

 

28 January

What a waste of my fucki....effing time. How the f- can this possible help?

 

29 January

Nothing ever happens to me.

ETA:

Except something did, guess I should say someone happened to me...tall, dark and odd, but he didn't see me as my cane, or my anger or as a number. Looks like I may have something to write about after all.


	2. Private Note to Self: The Day After

30 January 2010: Private note to self

I am wide awake when I should be dead to the world, as I watch the most remarkable man I've ever met or will ever meet sleep next to me. How, why...doesn't matter, all I know is I am not the same useless arse I was yesterday. I have found a purpose, a reason to drag my sorry broken self out of bed every day. 

God - he is brilliant. 

Somehow our pieces fit together, we each have our demons we do battle with, and I know there will be rough moments, but I know. I know, I will never be bored again.

Have to wake him soon to keep an appointment with Lestrade...wish we could just be here like this forever...

****

He was right, Donovan took one look at me, glared, and snapped, "you have a colleague? Really. The Freak follow you home or something? You do know-"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and shook his head, too used to the bullsh*t that usually comes out of her mouth, I guess.

"Anderson's wife still out of town, Sally?"

Sherlock ducked as she threw her empty coffee cup at him and stalked out of the room.

"Sorry about her. In fact, Anderson's wife got home early this morning..."

Sherlock cleared his throat and glared pointedly, "We are here for a debriefing, correct? I'd rather not sit here and prattle on about Donovan's unfortunate relationship choices, I do have other things I could be doing."

I just about fell out of my chair.


	3. First 'Official' Post 12-2-2010

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm reinventing the wheel, this is my own take on John's thoughts, probably very different from 'the blog' as I've never read it. Of course, John is writing his blog mostly to write about his life, which naturally revolves around his flatmate and whatever else they are, so it will be snarky and personal at times, though he usually keeps the 'truly' private notes in a password protected file, which of course Sherlock breaks into every once in a while...

12\. February. 2010

 

The 'Study in Pink' case remained in the headlines for a few days, due to the identities of the victims and the bizarre nature of the crime. So if you are interested in reading about how Lestrade and his 'team' finally pieced together the identity of the cabbie, who finally got a bit of the revenge he was seeking against the people that destroyed his family so many generations ago...check the archives of the Times, the Mirror and the Daily Mail. Of course, Mycroft used his 'connections' so there was no mention of how the unfortunate cabbie met his fate, and Lestrade managed a general 'word of thanks' to the public for their 'assistance'. Public = Sherlock.

Of course, Sherlock had managed to pocket the two vials during the confusion after the shooting, and spent a few contented days examining the two bottles and came to realize that the cabbie had lied. Imagine, a serial poisoner who lied. Both vials contained a paralytic drug that basically slowly shuts the body down, but the mind stayed clear until the moment of death.

He spent the afternoon puttering, touching his books, playing his violin, he showered, ate a bit, then knelt next to me, asking to be touched without saying a single word. I nodded, took his hand, helped him up and led him to our room, where I helped him recover his equilibrium. He would never truly know if the cabbie had 'played the game' honestly with the other victims, but he had to come to terms with the idea that someone had wanted him dead, simply to finish a story. 

Over the fortnight, we took on a couple of small cases, mostly requiring very little 'leg work' and Sherlock spent time adding to his collection of ash samples, he's up to 224, at this point.

For now, no sign of the mystery sniper or Moriarty.

 

Comments(3)

John- you know I couldn't give Sherlock the credit...oh never mind...delete this later if you want. - Anon

I'm up to 227. G-, we know you are Anon, so give it up. - SH

Sorry, 227, you're right - JW


	4. Private Note to Self: Valentine's Day...?

13\. February. 2010

Tomorrow is Valentine's Day. I'm 40 years old, since when do I care about Valentine's Day?

Since... I have - damnit. I haven't even told him yet. We have the most brill- uhm, mind-boggling, beautiful...damn. We make love every time we kiss. I see the fear in his eyes...fear? What is he afraid of? I'm afraid of needing him too much, wanting him too much...and yet when he is calling my name as he falls apart, in that voice, that voice that reminds me that I once believed in a benevolent god...I know he loves me.

(Sherlock, if you are reading this, please believe me, I love you too. Yeah, I know you peek at these notes already...)

dreams of your voice  
have replaced the nightmares...

Damn. Poetry? Ah...well...driven me to poetry, you have.

ETA: Yes, love, that would be a reference to a Star Wars movie, and to a specific character who you remind me of at times. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The two lines of the poem are mine, we'll see if John and I can pull one together for Valentine's Day.


	5. Private Note to Self: Valentine's Day

dreams of your voice  
have replaced the nightmares  
the limp  
has departed  
my hand no longer reaches  
for an ending  
instead my fingers  
find yours  
and I know  
you are my beginning  
my middle  
and my  
forever.

Tonight you spent a long moment just looking at me, not deducing, not memorizing, simply seeing me. I've never felt more naked while fully dressed. I wanted to know what you saw, what you were looking for, but then you looked away and asked Angelo for another bottle from the 'cellar' and when you looked back up, you smiled, a smile I hadn't seen before...like you suddenly remembered where and when you were...where did you go, love?

When we got home...home...it still feels so new to me...I have never felt like I belonged anywhere so completely before...  
All I wanted was to take you into our room and wrap myself around you and undo whatever it was that makes you so afraid to trust that I am not leaving you.

Instead, you made me sit on the couch and close my eyes.

"No peeking."

"Not peeking...I swear."

"Promise?"

"Pinky swear."

"All right."

"I can open my eyes?"

"Of course, how else are you going to join me?"

"Where are you?"

"The loo."

I shed my clothes on my way to find you waiting for me, your rain-dampened curls already covered in bubbles, your knees peeking up...

"A bubble bath...ohgod...it's been..."

"...a long time?"

I gingerly stepped into lavender and lemongrass and settled between your legs and leaned back against your chest... home.

 

John- you are such a romantic. You make me...want to be a better person. I haven't felt that way in such a long time. I do love you, I'm just so used to being alone. What you saw tonight, I don't know, it was I guess just astonishment that you were there, looking at me in that way that...I just always want to thank you for allowing me in. You let me comfort you when the nightmares do come, and you are there for me in ways...you will never know. A very Happy Valentine's Day, my love.

ETA...do you not even try to come up with a decent password? <3 you. -SH

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, they had Thai and Bond movies for their midday meal and Angelo's for a late night dinner. They both need feeding up and Angelo would be hurt if the boys didn't celebrate the special day there.


	6. Second Post 2-3-2010: The "Blind Banker"

Luckily, the case did indeed turn out to be interesting, and we didn't bump into Donovan or Anderson, though we had to break in a new DI, and I realized how hard I will have to work to deal with Sherlock's past 'acquaintances.' I am beginning to appreciate Mycroft's protective side a bit more.

"Ah...Sherlock Holmes..."

"Sebastian. Been a few years."

"And who is this?"

"My-"

"Partner, John Watson."

"Partner?"

"In every way."

"Ahh....pleasure, I'm sure..."

"You asked us here...?"

"Yes. Right. Of course. We had a break in last night...a message was left."

A 'security issue' turned into two murders, a lesson in graffiti, and a trip to a Chinese circus, (not to mention a kidnapping...). We discovered the case revolved around an ancient hairpin that had been smuggled, then stolen by one of the smugglers, who was also the first murder victim...it was quite an entertaining three days, except for the kidnapping, of course.

Dimmock sent over a very nice bottle of wine with his unofficial note of thanks.


	7. a love note of sorts

Sorry...no, not really, but that's what people say sometimes when they hack into their lover's blog, isn't it?

 

John-

You are next to me, fast asleep, your back nestled against my side, still warm and slightly damp from our shower, after we made love. That's what it is, isn't it? You seem to think you have so little to give to me, how, what in your life has caused you to believe that you are not important? What you offered to me tonight, your trust, your heart, the tears that ran down your face as you gave yourself to me, you have no idea what a gift that is. 

I have always been seen as odd, untouchable, a machine. You are the first, the only one, to see me as human, as deserving of love as anyone else. That night we met, I had just deduced who, or at least what the poisoner was, who it had to be, was feeling pleased with myself, but then I realized I had no one to share it with, and for the first time in years, I felt not just alone, but lonely, like I was missing someone, and you showed up. I looked up at the sky as the rain was beginning to fall, and you spoke. I hesitated, then in the last bits of light saw in your eyes that look, the look of someone who was on the edge of surrendering. I know that look, I used to see it in the mirror when I would bother to use it. That night you saved me, as much as I rescued you, but you know that.

So, when I knew the gang had you tonight, and I knew I was almost too late...I can't imagine my life without you by my side, in such a short period of time, you have become the central reason for my existence. I wonder if that is a bit not good...but I never really cared what other people thought before. You just smiled in your sleep. God-my heart...for once I'm actually exhausted. I could sleep for days, but all I want to do is watch you sleep, then selfishly wake you up with kisses and make you make that sound you made earlier tonight, you know the one.

Thank you-I never say it enough, not nearly as often as I should. Thank you for not giving up, for being here, for that sigh when I drive you crazy, for the way you bring me back to earth, holding me in your arms as if I were something precious; thank you for loving me.

I love you- oh, you just rolled over, stretched your arm over my hip, and pulled me against you...oh love.


End file.
